by Day Leclaire
A woman raised a tentative hand. "What if it rains?"
A smile drifted across Holt's face. "Why, ma'am, then you'll get wet. Any more questions?" There weren't. "Okay. Let's move out."
By design, each wrangler blended among the guests, chatting casually and answering the unending stream of questions. Holt trotted over to Cami's side.
"How's your mother settling in?" he asked.
Cami tugged the brim of her hat low over her eyes, shading her face from the bright morning sunshine. "Okay, I guess. She's still a bit nervous that I'm going to kill myself."
"With good reason, I'd say."
She ignored him. "Aside from that, she seems to be doing just fine."
"I arranged for Frank to ride with her. Thought it would help take her mind off her only chick."
She peered over her shoulder. Sure enough, Frank Smith rode at her mother's side, engaging her in an animated conversation. They looked good together. At forty-three, her mother was a beautiful woman. Yet she'd never remarried, never even had a serious relationship in the twenty-one years since her husband's death. For the first time, that struck Cami as odd.
She glanced at them speculatively. Frank couldn't be much older than Charlotte, at a guess only a few years. He rode tall in the saddle, a striking man with salt-and-pepper hair and calm gray eyes. Of course, she didn't consider him anywhere near as striking as Holt. But for a temporary suitor, he'd do.
"Thanks," she said to Holt. "I appreciate your thoughtfulness."
A lazy grin tugged at his mouth. "Frank didn't take much convincing. He seemed happy to help."
Breathtaking scenery enhanced the enjoyment of the ride. Cami, content to let the leaders set the pace, chatted with guests and enjoyed the view. Several hours later, Holt drew up short and waved them in. The guests and wranglers obediently gathered close.
"We're almost to camp," he announced. "As we ride, keep your eyes open for strays. If you see anything, alert one of the wranglers and he'll show you how we round them up. Okay. Fan out and keep your eyes peeled."
Cami winged off to one side of the group, picking her way through brush and rock. She heard the occasional shouts whenever various members of the group found a stray and herded it in. Gradually, she parted company with the others, intent on finding her own cow. A sudden suspicious movement drew her attention to a mountain mahogany bush. It twitched, rustling in a manner no wind ever created.
She stiffened, excitement blossoming. The distinct possibility existed that a cow made that noise. And if so, this was it. Time to round up them doggies. She brought Petunia's head around and circled the bush. On the far side she found what she sought—a calf.
The calf turned to look at her. A more wicked, mischievous expression, she'd never seen. If she didn't miss her guess, this tyke threatened to be hell on hooves. Fine. She'd find a way to handle hell on hooves.
Maybe.
First, she tried to usher the contrary critter toward open pasture. Breaking into a trot, the calf circled the bush and came up behind. She chased him in the opposite direction with similar results. Several more attempts to flush junior from his hiding place ended the same way, the calf the smug winner and Cami the frustrated loser.
Perhaps she should rope it. Yep, she'd show this young maverick who was boss. She unsnapped her rope from the saddle and flipped the loop into the air. Aiming carefully, she tossed it at the wayward animal. At the last possible moment, he ambled forward. The rope snagged in the bush and Cami swore beneath her breath. With a laughing bleat, the calf loped off.
It just figured. She tugged at the rope, but to no avail. She sighed. And that figured, too.
Clambering off Petunia, Cami fought to free her rope. The bush fought back. With an infuriated cry, she pulled, throwing every ounce of her weight behind the attempt. The rope abruptly jerked loose and she tumbled tin cup over teakettle, before bouncing to a stop on her rump. She winced, rubbing the offending part of her anatomy.
"Dang. That hurts."
As though in response, the bush in front of her rustled. She frowned. What in the world? Before she had time to gather her wits sufficiently to move, a huge cow head poked through the shrubbery. Oh, lordy! She'd better pray her young maverick had done some mighty fast growing. Because if he hadn't, she'd just landed in major big trouble.
"Junior?" she whispered in a quavering voice. "Is that you?"
In response, a wet, quivering nose drew to within inches of Cami's smaller, drier one. The wet nose inhaled sharply, and for an instant she feared he'd suck her clothes clean off her body.
She let out a squeaky cry of alarm, dug her heels into the dirt and shoved wildly, scooting backward as fast as she could scoot. With an earthshaking bellow, the steer plowed right over the bush after her.
The next thing she knew, the biggest, ugliest, droolingest longhorn she'd ever had the misfortune to meet stood straddled above her, his muzzle hanging an inch from her face. One enormous horn, kinked into more knots than a two-year old's shoelace, twisted skyward. The other horn, equally contorted, stabbed the ground a yard to her left.
He inhaled again.
She shrieked.
Oh, lordy, lordy, lordy. Don't rile the longhorns, Gabby had said. He'd neglected to mention precisely how one went about avoiding that truly terrible turn of events. She tried to swallow. A powerful thundering reverberated in her ears, growing louder and louder until her whole body shook with it. She pressed a hand to her chest, certain the sound meant her heart hovered on the verge of exploding. Any minute now, she'd faint and die. Horribly.
The thundering subsided, replaced by the crunch of earth beneath boot heel. She risked a quick sidelong glance. "Holt," she gasped in relief. "Holt, save me!"
"Tex?" He stooped. "That you?"
"It's me, all right."
"Mind telling me what you're doing down there?" he asked in mild surprise.
She cleared her throat. "It's sort of a long story. Maybe I could tell you a bit later?"
"Uh-huh. It can wait. You are aware that layin' flat on your back beneath more than two thousand pounds of longhorn is not a predicament I'd go out of my way to recommend."
She shot a nervous glance upward. "You understand I'm not in any position to argue with you."
His tone turned dry. "That's true enough."
"Holt?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't mean to sound demanding or anything, but do you think you could help me?"
"I'll do my best, but it might prove difficult. Perhaps if I introduced you two."
"Introduced—"
"Tex meet Buttercup. Buttercup, this is Tex."
Buttercup opened his mouth and stuck out the biggest, wettest tongue she'd ever seen. "No," she moaned. "No licking. I don't taste good. Oh, criminy, don't do that."
He did.
Gross. Longhorn cooties. "That's disgusting."
Holt grinned. "I think he's taken a shine to you."
She peeked up at the longhorn. To her dismay, she could see a very strange moonstruck expression in Buttercup's big brown eyes. A low, moaning sound rumbled deep in the steer's chest. He threw back his head and bellowed. The ground beneath her shook.
"Holt!"
"All right, calm down." Holt grabbed her beneath the arms and slid her out from under Buttercup.
Gaining her feet, Cami rapidly retreated. Buttercup trotted after her. "Holt, do something." Holt laughed. "I mean, something more than laugh. This isn't funny."
"Sure it is. It's springtime and Buttercup's in love. What could be more romantic?" She opened her mouth to retort and he waved her silent. "Maybe he needs to think you're already spoken for."
"Fine." She planted her hands on her hips and faced the steer. "I hate to break this to you, buster, but I'm already spoken for." Buttercup didn't seem the least impressed. With a determined bellow, he stuck out a tongue that threatened another round of slurpy licks and kept coming. Desperate, Cami appealed to Holt. "Don't just stand there!"
Ob
ligingly, he stepped between Cami and the longhorn. "Perhaps a more visual demonstration is in order."
"Say what?"
"A visual demonstration to prove you're spoken for." He swung her into his arms, staring down at her with wicked intent. A wavy lock of sun kissed hair tumbled across his forehead. "Let's see if he understands this," he said. And covered her mouth with his.
Buttercup and the pasture, the horses, and even the Rockies vanished as though they'd never been. All that remained was this man. And he held her—oh, how he held her—in an embrace so close and tight that he controlled the give and take of each breath. His arms formed unbreakable bands about her waist and back, bands she wished she could forge permanently in place. His widespread legs, solid and rooted, trapped her between his thighs. Unable to help herself, she yielded all will to the mouth that imprisoned hers.
"You think Buttercup has the idea now?" he whispered against her lips.
"Not yet," she whispered back. "Perhaps you should make it a bit clearer."
He instantly complied. Sweeping off her hat, he tossed it onto the grass at their feet. His fingers sank into the tight curls of her hair and he tilted her head to a more accessible angle. Then his hands stroked downward. She trembled beneath the onslaught of his work-roughened touch, trembled when he eased past the fragile bones beneath her throat and dipped into the vee of her shirt.
The buttons fell open beneath his expert management and a startled gasp escaped her. The warmth and fit of his caress felt so right, so natural it didn't occur to her to protest. On the contrary, it took every ounce of willpower to keep from sinking to the ground and allowing nature to take its course.
She wanted this man. Wanted him more than any man she'd ever known. More, she suspected, than any man she ever would know. That knowledge, undeniable and inescapable, terrified her.
A sharp, unexpected nudge knocked them apart and Buttercup released a plaintive moo, the sound forcing Cami back to reality. She took a hasty step away from pure bliss and fumbled with her shirt buttons. She risked a peek at Holt and a flush mounted her cheeks. At first glance, he appeared unaffected by their encounter. But upon closer inspection, she noted the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the betraying stiffness of his stance.
"For a man with a grudge against city girls, you sure do give them the sweetest kisses," she informed him, picking up her hat and whacking the dust from the brim.
"A temporary aberration."
She lifted her head and met his remote gaze dead on. "Meaning?"
His jaw tightened. "Meaning that in less than two weeks I suspect you'll be returning home with your mother."
She shot him a pitying look. "You suspect wrong. I'll be here for the summer, count on it."
He shrugged. "Two weeks or summer's end, it's still a temporary situation. Knowing that, I don't mind the occasional indulgence."
She felt the first stirring of anger as well as a mountain of hurt. "An occasional indulgence, so long as it doesn't get serious?"
"So long as it doesn't get serious," he confirmed.
She slapped her hat low on her brow. "In that case, I'll stick with Buttercup. At least his affections are sincere."
"I never said my affections weren't sincere."
"Just temporary." At his nod, she stepped back. "No, thanks. I won't be anybody's way station."
"And I won't put my ranch at risk again." His black gaze hardened. "And you, Tex, are a big risk. You're dangerous. To me. To my ranch. To my way of life."
"Now there you're wrong," Cami dared to say. "She was a danger. Not me." Without a backward glance, she snagged Petunia's reins and climbed aboard. "Which way's camp?"
"We'll ride together," he said in a voice that brooked no argument.
Ten minutes later they rode into camp, Buttercup at their heels. Amusement soon replaced the initial shock of having a huge steer tagging behind Cami.
"First time I've ever seen Buttercup bringing up the tail end of a line," Frank commented to Charlotte. "He's our best leader. Sets a good pace. Never balks at anything in his path. Makes moving the herd a hell of a lot easier."
"Best put Tex in front on point," Gabby offered his opinion. "Or we'll never get to Lullabye."
Cami listened to the exchange with interest, wondering why Holt looked less than pleased with Gabby's suggestion. Perhaps he rode point, too, and didn't care for her company. She sighed. Well, fine. If he didn't want her anymore, she'd stay clear of him to the best of her ability. He'd have nothing to complain about. She'd see to that.
All through dinner and the sing along that followed, she tried her level best to avoid Holt. Not a problem since he seemed equally intent on avoiding her. And Buttercup did his part, sticking to her side like glue and shoving anyone who came between them from his path. Finally Gabby intervened, leading a pathetically mooing Buttercup off to the holding pen. Evening deepened and one-by-one the guests drifted toward the cabin.
Charlotte stood and collected a few overlooked pieces of litter. "You coming, Camellia?"
"Think I'll sleep out here." Cami tossed her bedroll by the fire. "I don't often get the chance to sleep under the stars." She frowned. Cute, but a long stretch from the truth. She wanted to sleep here because it came the closest to sleeping with Holt she'd ever experience.
Her mother hesitated. "Okay. Sleep well. I'll see you in the morning."
"G'night, Momma," Cami said with a smile.
A few minutes later, Frank stood. "Think I'll turn in, too."
"You gone soft or something?" Gabby asked in disbelief. "Since when do you sleep inside?"
Holt stretched his legs close to the fire. "Since a certain widow lady appeared on the scene. Would that be about right, neighbor?"
Frank grinned, unfazed by their ribbing. "'Bout right," he concurred. Whistling tunelessly, he strolled toward the cabin.
Cami nibbled on her lip in concern. She hoped his feelings weren't seriously engaged, since it could only lead to disaster. Her mother would never permit herself to care for a cowpoke again. Her fear of losing another man to ranching would get in the way. If Frank thought he could change her mind, he'd soon learn different, sort of like she'd recently learned with Holt. Because Holt Winston would no sooner love a city slicker than her mother would a rancher.
She stewed over the similarities.
When she finally looked up again, she discovered that she, Holt, and Gabby were the only ones remaining by the fire. Holt lay propped against his bedroll, his Stetson pulled low over his face. She stared at his hat, overcome with curiosity. Unable to explain why, she reached out to finger the brim.
"Touch that at your peril."
Cami jerked her hand back as though stung. "Why? You have a thing about your hat?" she demanded.
"'Course he does," Gabby spoke up. "A man is his hat, Tex. Hell, any cowman worth his salt guards a good Stetson with his life. Fact is, the only time it should leave his head is during the national anthem. And even then I hang tight to mine lest some varmint tries to lift it off me."
"You don't sleep in it?"
"Dang tootin'. Why, I even shower in it."
Holt crushed his hat more firmly over his face. "Old man, you talk too much."
"You see what he just did?" Gabby asked, completely ignoring his employer.
"You mean the way he squashed it down?"
"That's what I mean, all right. Now you watch next time he does that. Because it speaks to you, loud and clear."
"Really?" Fascinating. "What does it say?"
"It says, he's plumb annoyed and intends to be annoyin' in exchange."
"You might take heed of your own words," Holt suggested, one eye peering out from beneath his brim.
"Sure thing. Now. If'n you see him shove that old John B. to the back of his head, why, count on it. He's perplexed, bewildered, or surprised."
Cami smiled, settling more comfortably onto her bedroll. "I take it that doesn't happen often?"
"You take it right."
"W
hat about when he yanks it low on his forehead like this?" She demonstrated.
"Why, that means he's aimin' to git what he's aimin' to git." Gabby dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper. "But if he ever throws it into the dust—whew-ee, Tex, run for cover."
"My hat's not the only thing about to eat dust," Holt grumbled. "You going to shut up, or do we need to discuss the matter?"
"Fine thing," Gabby muttered, his mustache bristling. "Fine thing when a man can't express his opinion without bein' threatened with bodily harm." He slouched down on his bedroll, closing his mouth with a snap.
Cami grinned, laying back. For a while she stared at the stars. Then, deciding to work some more on her cowboy skills, she propped her hat to the exact same angle as Holt's. Perfect, was her last thought. Life was perfect.
Within minutes something cold and wet and fuzzy changed her mind. She sat up with a gasp, her hat tumbling off her face and rolling across the ground to land beside Holt. A huge, hulking form hovered over her, so close she could feel its hot, noxious breath on her face.
"Holt!" she shrieked. "Save me!"
Chapter 7
Holt hit his feet at a dead run, skidded to an abrupt stop, and burst out laughing. "Why, Buttercup," he drawled. "It's a little late to come a-courtin', don't you think?"
"Buttercup!" Cami jumped up, relief and amusement replacing her earlier fear. With a sigh, she approached the longhorn and rubbed his nose. "What are you doing here?"
"Musta broke through the fence," Gabby groused. He left his bedroll and grabbed his boots. "Better check the rest of the herd. Probably have one or two escapees to deal with."
"We'll find them in the morning," Holt said. "Tex, see if you can encourage Buttercup to return to his pen while we fix the fence."
Obediently, she gave Buttercup a final rub and crossed to the holding pen. The steer trotted behind. She opened the gate and walked boldly in. Without a murmur of protest, her hulking shadow followed. She latched the gate behind him and climbed onto the fence rail, noting with relief that only one or two longhorns had decided to follow Buttercup's example and vamoose. The rest were settled in for the night.